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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap.-..-r. ropyright No.. 

ShelLLkUS-^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



The Scarlet-Veined 



Hnt> ©tber poems 



/ BY 

I.UCY CLEVELAND 

AUTHOR OF 

' Lotus Life and other Poems," " The Dog of the Old Guard, 
"My Lady's Strange Girdle," etc. 



NEW YORK 

A. D. F. RANDOLPH COMPANY 

103 FIFTH AVENUE 
1897 



TWO COPIES HEGEIVED 




20H0 

Copyright, 1897, by 
The a. D. F. Randolph Company. 



Composition and Presswork by 

M., W, & C. Pennypacker. 



CONTENTS. 



I. 

THE SCARLET-VEINED, 13 

II. 
VOICES : 

From Hei<i.as — for Hei.i,as, 67 

Voices from Hei,i,as, 68 

From Mount Oi,ympus, 70 

Mors Janua Vitae, 72 

Cceur de Lion, 73 

The Slavic Bird 75 

For Crete and Armenia, 77 

Voices, 79 

On History's Wall 81 

III. 
PATRIOTIC POEMS : 

The Flag in the Dardanelles, ..... 85 

Nature's Vote, 87 



CONTENTS. 
In Memoriam Maceo 88 

To GrOVER Ci,EVEI,AND (chief executive), . . 90 

England's Pet Bird, 92 

The Prize-Winner, 94 

Expectations, 96 

The Loftiest Word 98 

IV. 
POEMS OF NATURE : 

The SKYI.ARK lOI 

In the Orchard, 104 

Robin's New Song 106 

The Fountain, 108 

The White Rose, 109 

The Lightning, no 

The Night-Bi<ooming Cereus, in 

Centripetal, 114 

The Mayflower, 116 

June, 118 

Pour Elle, 119 

Her Girdle, I '. . 120 

Her Girdle Unclasped, II., 121 

A Rose 122 



CONTENTS. 

The Poet's Winnings, 123 

The Karnak Lily, 124 

The Egyptian Obewsk, I., 126 

The Egyptian Obewsk, II 127 

Revele ! 128 

For Whom? 129 

Transfiguration, 1 130 

Transfiguration, II., 131 

One MoonIvIGht, 132 

A Prayer, 133, 

A Meeting, 134 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 



Ube Supreme poet. 

O Thou who o'er the chasm's ink 
Of the abyssmal Void didst move 
In rhythmic breathings ; on the brink 
Of the song- worlds all lyife all L<ove 
Were Thine, O burning heart of the o'er- 
brooding Dove ! 



O my Scarlet - Veined a-fluttering and a-kin to 
God's great aznre, 
Stretching stro7igly, strangely, sternly to dawn, 
to dusk to-day, 
Within each palm an ocean, and the sun itself 
obeisant 
In crimson beaker pledging, ere it laughs at 
old Bombay ; 
The stars are trooping, envious, over tosses of 
veined oceans 
To anchor in thy lightnings, and to hearken 
at thy knees, 
O my Standard, stand thou strong and worthy, 
worthier yet, a beacon 
Against God's upper azure to the darkening 
dynasties I 



Ubc Scarlet*lt)eine^. 

December 25th, 1776. 

THE day was ebbing slow into that Vast 
That spreads its arms, a sudden darken- 
ing blur 
lyike an o'ersweeping wave of eagle's wing 
Around an hour moving towards the dusk 
To pass into the Night, from whose great breast 
Beating with blood of stars it shall arise 
New- voiced, fed with a meteor's battle-breath 
Of utterance prophetic hurled from heaven 
To startle nations and illume a world. 

The night is needful for the mellowing 
Of all great purpose. 



THE SCA RL E T- VEINED. 

On the camp it lies, 
The silent outposts on the Delaware 
Where a young nation waited for a morn. 
The river glances with dread gleam, a white 
That curdles through the silence, and strikes 

chill 
Upon the threshold of the valiant hearts 
That watch beside her waters' corpse-like calm, 
Her speechless lips that part, but speak no 

word, 
Her long gray spectre-face — Is it the ghost 
Of years to come, come Now? The spectre-form 
Of a great people's hopes doomed in this night 
To die? Will that dread ghastliness arise 
In sheeted horror that dries up the blood 
Of e'en the boldest in the van of life, 
And calls men's eyeballs out. Moving it comes, 
Moving a-down the night, this sheeted Dead, 
Its long bleached finger of dread bone out- 
stretched, 

14 



THE SCA RL E T- VEINED. 

Still looming awful, e'eu above the pine 
That holds the rim of moonlight. The dread 

White 
Smiles. And the smile's more hideous than a 

curse. 
The finger beckons to arise and come. 
The long and long perspective of stacked guns 
Seem, in this gray chill mist, to move and move 
A ghostly caravan of corpses dread 
Across the leagues of distance, a grim band 
Whose bones are whiter than the moon's amaze 
That crept and searched along the ground last 

night. 
And quick withdrew, with lips of horror pale, 
Behind a gibbous cloud that bulged to laugh 
With swollen cheeks at the lean band of men 
Who plan to plant a nation now, and turn 
Thy plethoric scorn, O Britain ! on thyself. 

The bivouac at midnight of the men 
15 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Who, from the wasted troops, have mustered 

grit 
In grasp of one staunch purpose : To plough 

through 
The ice of obstacle, yea, and to meet 
Great Death himself, and from his hideous hand 
Wrest the dread scythe and wield it in dread war. 

'Tis bivouac at midnight. The low wind 
Swaj's the black straps upon the cartridge-box 
That's hung upon the sword; and that's the 

Cross. 
It's planted firm, and watches dauntless souls. 
God moves, the Infinite's Humanity, 
Towards the magnet irresistible — 
Great men. To-night you'll trace the word 

they wrote 
Across the snow's long ghastly chronicle 
(Death's mirror). From their worn feet drop- 
ped blood 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

As on and on they marched, yea, though a 

Gates 
Has turned his back on danger, duty ; yea, 
Though a Wilkinson's from Bristol fled, 
Yea, though a Grifl&n who should plant his grip 
Of iron mould, that sudden spurts in fire. 
Within the flesh of the great enemy — 
Yea, though these men have fled the surge 
That mounts in fiery foam along our lines — 
Terraced on terror, lo ! they sit aloof 
From this night's wave of opportunity, 
Yet the great heroes marched. Heroes sublime, 
What bell will ring to ages your great shout? 
Heroes sublime, I envy ye that Night. 
Ye planted the red seed we reap to-day 
In golden harvest on our land's lit soil. 
That blood has moistened history's old face 
Flushed with new life this pregnant Christmas 

night, 
As when, along the old Judea-roads, 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

The light from Joseph's lantern dropped red 

flecks, 
A drip of blood along the moonlight snow, 
As slowly with pained feet he plods along 
And holds the lantern high to illume the face 
Of her who'll bear the Christ in Bethlehem's 

cave. 
Christ's hazard-road is marked with flecks of 

blood. 
Thus must it ever be, O signal soul ! 
'Tis greater, verily, to sow the seed 
Of all a grand Hereafter, yea, in start 
Of muscles' giant agony, than to sit 
In sun-crowned plenty yellowing all the fields. 
Whose is the crown when God's voice calls 

the Roll? 

Darkness upon our forces. There's no hint 
Of the great shout when the great sky caught 
fire, 

i8 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

And Gloria in Excehis to the I,ord 

Rushed like the roseate stream from opal-wings 

Of the great Cherubim. 

The night shuts down; 
No standard has this nation save the light 
That gleams in great men's eyes, like planets* 

fires 
When the pall'd clouds part on the acres vast. 
And the great purpose of Immensity 
Writes its star-alphabet of record down. 
But night is needful for the mellowing 
Of their great purpose. They are veterans. 
Their veins are Puritan. Their muscles bred 
To hoist new standards o'er an ocean's toss ; 
Sinews of granite, carved from out thy hills, 
O thou New England ! nurse and mother dear, 
Who from thy breast's milk mad'st the men 
To cleave a path through the Impossible, 
To open shining doors for shuddering slaves. 
19 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Though France hold back, and Philadelphia 

fall, 
New England will hold on — and climb by knee, 
By fist, by teeth, and grapple up the slope. 
Yea, though this very night she meet and close 
With those imposing massive lines of men 
Haloed with steel, a bayonet- torrent broad 
That sweeps with irresistible smooth swirl 
And levels e'en the mightiest. Britain, thou. 
Thy haze of giant faces, foam of plumes. 
Thou hurricane of valor round a world ! 

But Pennsylvania's woods send forth her men 
Who stand as solid as her beechen trees 
Down this supreme of storm. Yea, Hand is here, 
And holds in giant palm his veterans 
He'll dash upon thine outposts, Britain, soon. 
Virginia, too, at whom colonial lips 
Have sometimes curled: "She breeds but court- 
iers, 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Who' re warm (in wooing) ; skill' d in handling, 

fine, 
The perfumed fans of ladies. Courtiers 
Who're busy with grave cares (that make 

them stoop) 
For their knee-buckles. Cavaliers, you see." 

"You see." — What see you near the Delaware? 
The ' ' velvet ' ' of good blood dyes the strong 

limbs, 
The "shapely" limbs of Old Virginia's sons. 
Its signet on their signal march to-night. 
The powder of God's storm, the ice-wind's lace 
Trims their rent clothes. Their naked feet 

grasp ground, 
And wrest it, thus, for all the ages' gaze — 
These "cavaliers" along the Delaware. 

This "Cavalier" along the Delaware — 

Who is that man who walks alone, out there, 



THE SCARLE T- VEINED. 

Beyond the distant edge of bayonet-gleam? 
Quarried from out the black he looms erect, 
The black of care, of disappointment, loss — 
A silhouette against the rocks of chance. 
The crystal strong that gathers to its breast 
The colored leaps of fire from out the dark 
And binds them for a torch unto a people. 
Quarried from out the strain of all the life 
Lived in the open 'neath God's lamps alone, 
Inured to hardship, bivouac, to risk, 
To self-dependence midst the fiery wreath 
Of savage eyes. Thus, the man's made. He 

stands, 
A silhouette against an old world's smile: 
"George the Surveyor !" sneered the English lip 
As it "sur\'eyed" its George-phylacteries 
Of kingly bulk. Has it "sur\-eyed" with care? 
Methinks that ermine sweepeth leprously, 
Its silken rustle cried "Unclean, Unclean!" 
"George the Surveyor !" Let's consult a Book : 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

One Adam's taste for landscape gardening 
Had been of some use to his sons since Eden 
In laying out the parterres for a people 
Along (the former) mudslopes of a world 
Whence they may gather nosegays. I recall 
That e'en the Heavenly Garden set on heights 
Is laid out, measured oft, by One — a man — 
You'd call him "a Surveyor." He's called 

Christ 
Up there where value finds its estimate. 
And mark, this old word Value means Valeur, 
A fighting quality. Red to the rim 
Of his great life stood Christ, with battle 

splashed. 
As he hewed his way through. He now "sur- 
veys" 
The wall-environment around His park 
(Or camp). "It is the measure of a man!" 
He cries. Of what man think you ? of Himself? 
Of any man who's wall around a people. 

23 



V 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

"George the Surveyor." Yes, the term will 
hold. 

The Blue Ridge mountains with their dip and 

dare 
Stretched their cerulean curve and climb o'er 

thee ; 
What thoughts and projects, Washington, arose 
To that grand forehead's democratic crown 
(The only crown for which 'tis worth to sweat) 
The Dare to free a people didst thou dream? 
The Pause to bend and wait till the great 

hour? 
Be resolute, be noble thou, O soul ! 
Canst thou fortell when some great hour shall 

call 
Its summons to great deeds across the soil 
Where vacant now thy days slip by, the sun 
A scorching eyeball in the heavens to blind. 
Strike deeper in the arid wastes thy roots. 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

O soul ! whose pulse springs Palm-like to the 

Blue, 
And wait — till the great God-thrill through 

thee run, 
Creative. 

Thou art destined for the Dare. 
The touch that wakens thee to azure air 
Sweeps o'er thy branches with the living Breath 
That fructifies to quench the thirst of men 
As through the tawny desert's death- mist dread, 
They urge their flagging way — lo ! their wild 

cry — 
The undulant blue shadows lace the Vague, 
The enchanted murmur of the Morning Calm 
Breaks, like the illumined chorus after death — 
They see thy date-palm's Crown soar o'er her 

streams ! 

Thy thought leaps high as God's great sentinels, 
25 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Those lips, O Washington, would match great 

Mars' , 
Thy forehead answers to thine eye to-night, 
It flames and searches the perspective's gloom, 
Thine eyes, O Washington, that see the streak. 
The silver dawn-streak light that grows and 

domes 
Into the soaring of the Blue, the arch 
Above that throne, — the land where every man 
Sits crowned because he's man. Yea, doughty 

men 
(The dynasties Columbia counts and counts 
Upon her rosary of stellar might) 
Out-rank the dynasties of fibril kings. 

Alone on thee, George the Surveyor, hang 

The hopes of a whole people in this hour. 

And A-et thou standest silent and aloof. 

The brook that chatters spends itself in froth. 

From out the awful hush where Ocean thinks, 
26 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Depth upon depth in folded silence dread, 
Ascend the giant words that plunge and hurl 
Their battle-cry around a blanching world. 

Still the reproach grows: "He's so silent! 

look ! ' ' 
The statue stands, a silence. Cold, you say? 
It's thought. The fire-heats in artist-soul, 
And white heats in the marble's snowy breast 
In fusion met. Passion divine ! and Thought 
Was born — this Thought that stabs you sud- 
denly. 
What fires wed in thy great soul to-night. 
Thou silent man ? What Thought discloses now 
In thee, Columbia's Caesar, its august? 
Alone on thee, O Washington, this hour 
The hopes of a whole people hang. On thee 
Who'rt left to-night with just two thousand 

men, 
And gallant sheaf of generals who stand firm. 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

The life of the United States dies low, 

A flickering flame. No flag e'en have these 

troops 
To bear before them in great war. And strong, 
Sting the proud words from out the Parliament 
Where England sits in storied might of men. 
The varied lights of statesmanship, like panes 
Of annal'd glass down her great Minster's 

aisles. 
Their hands yet hold the leash that's bit in 

mouths 
Of a tempestuous tribe out there, "the States, 
We'll rein in soon and feed with tea-leaves." 

lyion, 
Whose ocean-roar is heard around a world, 
Three words of thine thunder through Parlia- 
ment : 
"Can Britain fail ?" The man who walks alone 
Beyond the edge of bayonet-gleam out there. 
Beside the edge of icy corpse of stream, 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

With no proud banner shaking out its Hght 
Of promise for the morrow, bites the words 
Between his teeth. I would beware of lips 
lyike those, O Britain, for they're very dread. 
And then, that Eye, that's long accustomed 
To unimpeded horizons, sees — what? 
Columbia fail? She who may belt her path 
With dew-light glory and with scarlet dusk? 
Columbia fail? She who from east to west 
May sweep her gaze that fronts the eternal foam 
Of seas which rock in thunderous murmurings 
Around a world? Ocean will bate its breath, 
And lay its golden flecks of foam, its coins, 
At feet of Her who studs one golden word 
Upon her brow for nations : XibCtt^. 
Columbia fail? 

Yes, but the night dies down. 

And fold on fold its awful wing creeps on. 

No hope to lift its glory, sheen on sheen, 
29 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Looms as the land to homesick eye's return 
Across the sunset wave, and strong tears roll 
Down stalwart faces that have faced the bleak ; 
No flag to flame its force, its beckoning, 
Looms in its grandeur, o'er our gaze to-night. 
Art Thou not there? The stellar dust that 

whirls 
In pathless space, from Thy lit chariot-wheels 
It sprays, each drop a world that breaks to 

height 
Of being, held by Thee whose Hand is rein 
O'er the blue vault of the sun-systems' swirl 
Lo, as Thou movest on the Infinite, 
Watchman of Israel, who slumberest not. 
Art Thou not there ? Dost Thou not send Thy 

word 
Thy plunging meteor-word to say to earth 
" ' Tis God the Timeless, to thy knees to- 
night, 
Worship the Might that can deliver man." 
30 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

The cannon's roar shudders across the night 
From distant darken' d heights of Morristown. 
Its eye of flame rips shadows. Through its 

glare 
Dead eyeballs stare upon a vacant sky, 
While gurgling down the Dark, prophetic voice 
Of heroes' blood speaks to the greater Vast: 

Stand forth, O God Almighty, in this night ! 
Our cause is just, give us a sign, 'tis just ! 
Look how the nations gather 'neath the beck 
Of each dread finger looming as their hosts 
March on beneath its shadowed garment's power, 
"Our lighthouse," shout their voices in the van. 
Yet, Orient's crescent waxes to no moon. 
England's proud standafd shows the lion fierce 
To fall upon his prey; the claws distend. 
Beneath her standard crawl three abject men 
And cling. They sign their names while na- 
tions laugh: 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

The Turk, who whets his promising scimetar 
Upon the long, bleached bones of steadfast men 
Who held thy faith, O Britain, the same faith 
That says " I'm Christ's," as lo ! the gold cross 

looms 
Above thy crown's height where a ruby rocks 
And restless tells of great blood spilt in vain. 
The Turk, who's sponsor for his scimetar; 
The Egyptian gentleman, whose haul (in sport) 
How many concubines to stock his harem? 
Whose haul (in sport) how much of thy gold- 
drops 
O Britain, wrung from sweat of thy earth's 

sons? 
Yet, 'tis the Egyptian gentleman. Be fair, 
Fair with fine manners, Britain, and protect. 
Take care of the Sick Man, the Yellow' d Shah — 
Upon thy insular pivot, Britain, turn 
And watch the dupes to whom thy guns dic- 
tate. 

3a 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Stand forth, O Judge of nations, in this night. 
Our cause is just, give us a sign, 'tis just ! 
The sweep of Slavic bird moves o'er lone snows 
That shroud the cautious on-come of the Bear; 
The " Gott ?nit tins'' stares with white eye- 
balls dread 
Upon the standard whose background is black 
With belchings of hot war, a spectre-gaze; 
The throes of nations streak upon their flags 
The earthquake-mutterings under which they 

fall; 
Imperial ermine's spotted with black flecks 
That ooze upon the bland of regal gaze ; 
The scorpion crawls on immemorial walls 
Of China hoar, standard to sting her hosts; 
Through Vale of Roses where the nightingale 
Pours to the night his love-rill lit with moon, 
That moon whose tears are pearls dropped down 

the Gulf 
As slow o'er its lit billowing she moves 

33 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Seeking her love the Sun — her soul, herself 
Libation to his light ; across this Eden 
Passes that flag whose rude primeval roar 
Blanches the blush of rose — the Lion stalks, 
And woman's hopes sink with each sinking sun. 

The land whose soil was fed from Marathon, 
Whose Thought hath opened paths to deathless 

June, 
Pink dawn along the old, gnarled, branching 

years, 
The makers of new Meadows mad with morn 
Where men yet bend and drink of mazy springs, 
In epic draughts or lyric wine or cruse 
Filled by a golden hand, the Academe's, 
At doors of immortality ; the Land 
Whence sway of Gods still dictates to a world 
In vocal silences where Art divine 
Rules from the brow of Zeus or lips of Love — 
This Land, the jewel of ^gean spray. 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Who wore an Orient as a victor-star, 
Great Hellas ! once again thou standest forth 
The champion of the Idea; and this, the Thought 
That grooved itself in Letters of thine art 
First, in the kingly signature of Christ 
Titled on shuddering conquest of His Cross. 

Thou, gazing through the sightless eyeballs, 

wreck 
Of crumbled empires, Britain's Orient toy, 
The shattered golden Crescent that erewhile 
As moon of Mahomet re-lit the brows 
Of Egypt's marble gods, pale with great Past; 
Nightly with silver mellowings, bent rapt 
Above the voice of immemorial stream — 
Isis divine the lotus-breast Ideal ; 
And, as the glittering arc, electric span 
Binding barbaric Asia to the West, 
Flashed will of Sultan down its scimetar 
(That mirrored deep England's acute consent) ; 

35 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Thou, gazing o'er God's whitening moon-re- 
vealed, 
The Ottoman's ghastly distance of decay — 
Shalt lift thy standard of the God of gods, 
Veined from the empyrean, on that height 
Where once great Pallas war- wreathed stood, 

her eyes 
A threat, blue lights of war that menaced worlds. 

The Kalpas', ages seven, the ages vast 
That climb on India's standard, what say they 
To this age battering at her eflfete doors 
For entrance? 

God, Ancient of days, the Now, 
Veil of the All, the Timeless in all Time, 
Before Whose glance the ages flit like globes 
Of iridescent foam a-down the roar 
Of cataracts that kneel 'neath mountain's Eye; 
Thou, Alpha and Omega of Thy worlds 
36 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

The stars are stairways only, vestibule 
Unto Thy Vast, Ancient of mysteries. 
The constellations' epic Chronicles 
Tell but the rim unto Thy radiance ; 
They, golden portals of untravelled shrine, 
The belfry trembling with the Voice whose peal 
Upbuilds the dazzled dome-reach of those suns 
That countless crowd, and carve one Orient 

aisle 
Whirling its incense-cloud up, up, still up — 
The vaporous silver of adoring worlds 
At foot of the great Altar's golden — God. 

Stand forth, O God of armies, in this night ! 
Thou hast a standard to lead on to light, 
That standard is the star-hosts' broidered gleam. 
Across each night it streams in fiery mist 
Held in the hand of cohorts infinite, 
Whose grip upon the staff untightens ne'er. 
Whose thirst in this dread march alone is slaked 

37 



777^ SCARLET-VEINED. 

At source of Thy soul's wine. Thunder their 

voice, 
Their finger's lightning indicates the goal 
Towards which Thou movest, Mightiest, the goal 
Of Armageddon where Thy judgments fall. 
Stand forth, O God of cohorts, in this night. 
Our cause is just, give us a sign, 'tis just ! 
Is there not sign along Thy Heavens to help? 

Lo ! in that night's renown when Pharaoh's 

hosts 
Encamped beside Red waters, vast on vast, 
Perspective dread of war-bred chariots. 
Warriors whose way mowed down old worlds, 

and wrote 
New hieroglyphs of blood on Chaldea's dust, 
A Cartouche kingly ; lo ! in that dread day 
When Pharaoh's serried spears held the great 

glance 
Of his great gazing sun-god Amen-Ra, 

38 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

A sparkle that sent shouts above the Blue — 

The obelisk of God, His pillar' d cloud, 

Yea, God Himself, moved through the awful 

hush 
That fell, as slow the night of Egypt welled ; 
Nay, God it was who trod down suns, 
And blotted out the bloom of Nile's great shores. 
Pressing upon the River 'till it fled 
An ooze of darkness dread, an Ethiop' streak 
From cataracts to sea. Still welled that Dark, 
Stealing along the knots of dazzled spears. 
Blackening the guard and rear-guard of the 

king- 
Pharaoh ! thy horses' crests are darkening ! 
Help ! for the Pharaoh, help ! his phalanx-veins 
Date from the throes of gods, e'er Egypt was, 
They're red with the veined raiment of great 

Ra ! 
They're black from one dread touch, O king 

of kings, 

39 



THE SCA RL E T- VEINED. 

Pharaoh, thy horse's crests are darkening, 
I^ike those gaunt plumes which wave on fun- 
eral car, 
The dead goes by ! 

The living God goes by 
And drowns in dusk the power that crumbled 
thrones. 

Stand forth, O Watchman dread, in this our 

night ! 

Rip from Thy heavens star-veins of galaxies 

That roll in restless waiting round Thy throne. 

To pulse forever as our onward lamp. 

For pilot as for ploughman, sea or land, 

lyO ! is Thy hand not ready to indite 

A message new writ from Thine azure Vast, 

A message new leaping in scarlet veins, 

Pinn'd with thine own star-promises? the 

chords 

40 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

lyike strings upon an instrument profound 
Whence floats a music whose one theme 
In endless harmony of blended voice 
Sings to a world the symphony — XibCtt^. 

A silence awful holds the land. A pause. 
The creak stupendous of the earth was felt 
As slow with awful words of prophecy, 
She rocks from red to red, from sunset's path 
To dawn-aisles where the Face of God is sun. 
Darkness upon our forces. Midnight black, 
A hand of Dark whose fangs are smeared with 

death. 
Is there no hope, Eternal, Who once mad'st 
The wrath of man to praise Thee? 

Through the great Dark whose clutch steals 

close, a voice — 
The guns of England streak their flame-wrath 

red 

41 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

In bands npon the sky. Britain ! thy wrath 
The Lord Almighty takes for His own plan 
And belts a Standard on the thunder-cloud 
Through which the eyes celestial crowd and 

crowd, 
Star-nebulct of worlds, of forming worlds to 

be— 
For, out this stellar mist that wreathes the 

night. 
States, peoples, powers arise like fountaiu-foam 
That springs perennial from the earth's dark 

breast, 
Renews itself in sparkle, globe on globe, 
An atom measuring Immensity. 
The Flag for nations ! Lo, Britain's gun-streaks 

red 
Toss their renown upon God's platform. Night ; 
Promethean breath of Britain rolls white mist 
As belts upon the forming banner, Liberty ! 
And God's own hand tears constellations up, 

49 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

And pins their promises upon this Blue. 
Nations shall look to It. Their fading eyes 
Gather new gleams of hope. The hour has 

rung. 
Star-veins that part the sea, shout Harborage ! 
And their united voices' spheric tones 
Still leap in lyric chant as once they sang 
In their great orbits' fire : II n (50& WC UrUSt. 

The man to lead in vanguard of great men 
Stands up. His gaze is awful down this night's 
Great eagle-wing of overshadowing. 
Stand still, ye nations, for the hour has rung. 
There is a Standard. God's Might and one Man 
Who hurls his heroes o'er the Delaware. 

June 14, 1777. 

The shadow vast of death that clutched the 
shores 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Of the long river's answering pallid face 

Has passed away. Down in the trenches' 

depths 
One stood, and grappled with a Form 
Dismounted, hideous, whose laugh played loose 
Among the dead, whose breath blew orchestra 
Across the fleshless hands that streaked the air. 
They closed in vital grapple, the great Two — 
Thou Washington, with those fore-ordained lips, 
And thou gaunt Shadow, moving awfully. 
The great result stands pillar' d on all Time. 
The man who dares face shadows, merits sun. 
You'll see him in a moment where he stands 
And does a deed that's fraught with conse- 
quence 
In this fair city, Philadelphia call'd. 

Two rivers, yea of life, encircle her. 
The belt of land that's stretched from gleam 
to gleam, 

44 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Forms, in its streets, the chords upon a lute 
Whence martial music floated, in the ring 
Of great men's steps this good year 'Seventy- 
Seven. 
The quaint old city's birth dates from afar. 
The feet of Hudson, Stuyvesant, De Vries 
Smoothed out the savage furrows, partially. 
And then thou cam'st, serene and sun-lit face, 
With thy great project for this belt of land 
To found a commonwealth, self-governing, 
Whose roots draw sap from the great principles 
Of fundamental faith ; whose branches wave 
Free as God's air to spread where'er they list. 
Still hold the quaint old city's forest streets 
Her forest names, in echoes sylvan, sweet, 
Of the far Time where God invited first 
His birds to sing upon the sunlit air 
The outward music of the tree's great heart. 

The quaint old citj^'s name dates from afar, 

45 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Penu named it Philadelphia. Its great root 
Once grappled deep on shores of the Levant 
To whom God's message to His churches 

came, — 
The Seven (you'll find them writ within the 

Book), 
Among them, Philadelphia, the name means 
The love of brotherhood. Well-named, great 

man, 
Whose policy towards the savage — Peace ! 
Two words stand out on thine escutcheon proud: 
Mercy and Justice, the initial steps 
By which thou mounted'st to the Indian's 

heart. 
The highest throne in all God's measurements: 
Steadfast dominion o'er the hearts of men. 

The quaint old Quaker city on the streams 
Inherits still mild faces (that yet know 
Good cheer. Their taste's a relic, Anglican). 
46 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Its sleepy, dreamy, say you ? Not the speed 
Of great New York, or brain - spin of the 

"Hub." 
Most surely, Philadelphia's not New York 
Where, with a headlong rush, we hurl our- 
selves 
Against — His smile that says, ' ' Go back, my 

child. 
Begin again more quietly. It took 
How many aeons to enrich the mud 
Whereon the cxVy of Manhattan rests ? ' ' 
Nor Boston, that spins round upon her hub, 
And sometimes stands stock still and loses 

time 
Through gaze at her domed forehead in the 

Bay. 
There have been peacocks who lost wondrous 

chance 
Of succulent sweet crumbs spread for their fare 
By spreading to the fair their Vanity, 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

And standing vaster than King Solomon 
Before a travell'd lady, Sheba call'd — 
While homely little squirrels gobbled All. 

Most surely Philadelphia's not New York : 
But Gothic is not Greek, nor Byzantine, 
Nor yet the old Gigantic whence they drew 
Their nutriment, — the temples on the Nile. 
Enjoy the Egyptian, Karnak's awful might. 
The work of men who worshipped. And the 

Greek 
The work of men who thought. And down 

to-day 
The Gothic, work of men who dreamed. Be- 
ware 
Of climbing up into God's Judgment-seat. 
You could not, surely, see as far as He, 
E'en if you climbed. 

Along the stream of Time 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Leapt God's great word of message to that 

town 
Of Philadelphia, yea, from Him who held 
The seven stars — His churches, in His hand. 
He that hath ears let him hear what God says 
In His great message now, in this good year 
Of 'Seventy-seven. A word writ with a pen 
Dipp'd in His sunrise-veins. His moon's path 

hoar, 
His cauldron of the stars where worlds swim up. 

You see that sunny cloud along the Blue? 
Follow its pointing finger as it floats 
Still on. It stays to-day and wreaths itself 
Above a Tower, from whose quaint galleries' 

height 
The vistas wind through many murky ways 
Of this complex existence — MAN, and find 
The one strong civic citadel within. 
Surrendering never to the shocks of chance, 

49 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Building above, howe'er down-crushed, subdued, 
Finding its way still up through clods or kings, 
The one supreme in all my manhood's urge — 
The Love of Freedom— 1In&epcn^Cnce call'd. 

In Independence Hall one year agone, 
One year before this good date 'Seventy-seven, 
A future hung upon a breathless pause, 
As, slow, a massive parchment was unrolled. 
And great men's eyes glittered across its blank. 
Shall we throw down, with iron hand, the 

glove. 
The gauntlet of our signature? Around 
Belts Britain her stupendous — men who're 

carved 
In tactics of bright steel, flanked with the 

shell 
That tore its way to conquest in two spheres. 
They tilted, yea, at Time, those warriors, 
Time the great shadow of the Infinite 
50 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

That e'er unrolls its boundless azure line, 
The sky-liue of the Ever-New, the View 
Expanding in soul-ardor's light to heights. 
Time whose recording hand is held in God's, 
Held the great pen above the parchment's 

blank. 
Think you the dim papyrus-groves on Nile 
Whispered in ages gone momentous words 
The generations were to carve for e'er 
Upon their page, from Mena to the Man 
The Word, through Whom the furrowed ages' 

thought 
Voiced its supreme, the Ao'709, Christ ? 

The New 
That's still the Old, recorded its great birth, 
In eastward room of Independence Hall. 
Name after name sowed its immortal, wrote 
Its shining track upon that bleak — the Un- 
known. 

.51 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

But they knew. They felt (in signing that 

great Roll 
The Magna Charta of our liberties), 
Those prophets stern, the very pulse of God 
Who holds the hand of Time upon that lock 
That opens a new doorway up the day. 

To-day, to-day this good year 'Seventy-seven, 
A doorway open stands in Independence Hall. 
Wait at the threshhold with bowed, reverent 

head, 
I counsel it, before this Council in the room. 
Your eye sweeps round the circle brave of men 
Who've stood the strain of being quite sincere — 
America's j^oung Congress. Nay, they're old 
These men in knowledge of tradition, law 
The Lord laid down ; His first-born : Light, 

that's free. 
They gravely wait upon a central word. 
The table's strewn with quite a curious mesh 
52 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Of colored, light. Is it prismatic gleam 

From storied windows shredding their great 

rays? 
Nay, but the panes are plain white glass 
Like windows in the poor man's simple hut, 
White as the mountain-breath of smoke that 

curls 
From cabin of the pioneer afar. 
No accessory frames these faces strong, 
These carvers of our Life. From out their lives 
Will sweep the mighty aisles where men may 

kneel 
And worship God who steadied them in storm. 

Yes, but this mesh of colors ? rainbow-gleam 
From somewhere, somehow, saying ' ' Night is 

past. 
Shout your great shout, the Lord's a man of war 
And has led on ? Your Miriam-timbrel clash ? 
In one great moment, pivotal, you'll hear 

53 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

"They fought from heaven, the very star- veins 

fought. ' ' 
Wait the result. 

The tints that tinge this board 
Are the old flags of the old colonies : 
Connecticut's, her motto stamped in gilt ; 
Putnam's, — well-done thou grand old Puritan, 
With thy "Appeal to Heaven" in brave relief! 
Thy "Trust in God! (but keep your powder 

dry)"; 
Moultrie's blue flag, a crescent in the bend ; 
Virginia's Yellow, with its menace-coil. 
Its serpent legend "Do not tread on me!" 
And Massachusetts' with its Evergreen, 
Its Pine unfading on whose bark is cut 
For Unbelief to scan, just "Old Put's" words, 
(The present proves that they have quite 

avail' d). 
Dare to rely on Heaven when all is dark, 

54 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Her stars will laurel thee with aureate light. 
The lyiglit, the first-born Light, streams through 

the panes, 
And focuses its flash upon a Web 
Of iridescent sheen — a dew-light belt, 
A scarlet dusk, paths that stretch east, stretch 

west — 
Repeated o'er and o'er. And silver flecks 
Of foam are they? from out the Ocean-war 
Of elements? Nay, look! look closer yet, 
And see the stars roll their perennial fires 
Upon this standard. 

Once again there's hush 
In the old Hall. The eyes of Congress turn 
Towards a Man who sits in their great midst ; 
For on his word a beetling moment waits. 

As when, along the crags and storied cliffs 
That hold the history of the Ocean's face 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

In seam and scar — the fastnesses of Thought, 
One spur lifts up beyond the di£f- path's streak, 
And holds the sudden smite of the great sun, 
And echoes back the shout of salt- wind's voice — 
Spray'd with Immensity, kin to God's sky, 
The eagle mount amongst the crested crags ; 
Arises in the midst of granite men 
One Man. 

In vanguard of great men he towers, 
A silhouette against an old world's quake. 
You see him : Washington. Three syllables 
That wrote a new word in the book of life, 
It spells the All that makes life any worth — 
Home, Country, Liberty. 

With onward look 
That eyes of genius own, his gaze commands 
A future. For to-day, in this good place, 
A standard must be chosen for a people. 
Slowly, as when before the prophet's eye 
Trained in aloneness, silence, to arrive 
56 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

At God's great ventures, yea, in Bethlehem 
The little town that bourgeons like the soul 
Apex of all creation's symmetry — 
The sons of Jesse passed, and the Voice said 
"This is not My anointed ;" the great hand 
Of Washington puts by the flags and flags 
Which Congress lifts to meet his onward gaze. 
The iron hand of the great warrior 
Grasps one great fold. It is the Word 
Writ to the City Philadelphia by the Pen 
Dipped in the sunrise-veins, the moon's path 

hoar, 
God's cauldron of the stars where worlds swim 

up— 
The message to the land that He elects. 

The iron hand of the great warrior, 
The lordlier hand of the great man 
Tarries. On him who marched breast-high in 
blood 

57 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

And hew'd our way right through, decision 

hangs. 
I hear the heart-throb of a wheeling world, 
I hear the greater heart-throb of great men. 



Above, in the graj^ Tower a gray-haired man, 
A patriot sits. His hand is on the cords 
That hold the Bell, the great Bell— XibCttp. 
It thundered out, one year agone, the Word 
That spoke around two waiting hemispheres, 
As name by name went down, in tossing 

shouts, 
Upon the Page that severed us for aye 
Unto ourselves. 

The old man's face recalls 
That day : millennial moment on Time's clock. 

A spot of fire like spurt from a star-wheel 
Burns on his cheek just now, this patriot old. 

58 



777^ SCARLET-VEINED. 

Closer he grasps the cords. And, solemn, waits 
I^ike dawn's gray face that feels the advance 
of fire. 

A voice leaps bound on bound the Tower's 

stairs : 
"Ring, Ring, they've chosen. Washington 

has said. 
Ring, Ring, we have a Standard from the 

stars — ' ' 
The old bell rocks and sways against the 

walls, 
The pulse of patriots pours its leaping fire 
In clash of iron voices : Ring, O Bell, 
Ring, Ring, Ring out the vast horizon's light — 
Thou rock'st men's chains on lone Siberia's 

snows 
With utterance prophetic. Through the rose 
That blooms upon the breast of woman, bound, 
A hope thrills up, of sacred home and child. 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Across the heats of Asia, crawls the snake, 
The scorpion, within its walls. Thou Bell 
Doom' St it to die, thou ring'st an era new. 
Dash great desire and dare in hearts of men, 
Bind in one common weal, one commonwealth, 
The rich who reaps, the poor who sows the 

seed. 
Enfranchise man where'er he groans and waits. 
Ring, drop on drop, the rounded verity : 
One blood unites the ploughman and the prince 
Yea, as one scarlet fire threads through the 

spheres. 
Ring, Ring O Bell, the Flag's full fluttering 

voice — 
(From night 'twas born, the night was needful, 

see. 
For mellowing of a star-purpose vast). 
Ring out O Bell, its tidings down the tides 
That mount in sapphire glory foamed with 

stars : — 

6c 



THE SCARLET-VEINED. 

Fear ye no night, O ye United States, 
Each dusk is witness on great Heaven's dome 
Ye' 11 stand. The stars nail it along the night. 
Fear ye no night, O ye United States, 
The night of party jealousies, of strife, 
Where factions war, and thunders roll their car, 
Where the live tongues leap from the light- 
ning's mail. 
And the vast Void is vocal round your sail — 
Your prow, your Scarlet- Veined ploughs up 

the stars. 
Those harbor-lights of God's great Common- 
wealth, 
The bubbling lights for nations round your 
Barque. 



6i 



Ibis ^ajest^ 

GEORGE THE FIRST 
KING OF HEIvIvAS 

The Inheritor of her giant Past 
The Herald of her garlanded To-morrow. 

UpocfyrjTeia 

The Morning Star above the scythed moon 

Crowns the great dawning' s brink, 
Hellas ! thy stellar Past upon thy brow, 
Re-throned through throes of night upon the 
Now, 
Dost watch the Crescent sink ! 



63 



VOICES. 



VOICES. 



ifrom MeUas— 3for Mellas. 

ONCE more thine ancient fires burn, Hel- 
lenic might, 

On Athos' height. 
And face, with lurid forehead o'er the blue 
expanse, 

The Orient's lance. 
On Cretan Ida's fountained peak the watch- 
man waits. 

^gean's gates, 
The portals of thy crimson-hearted heroes, ope 
In sunrise-hope. 

Forward ! With memories red of Marathon's 
great gaze 

Through Asian maze, 

Face Britain's vaunted brawn, great Europe's 
treachery, 

Thews of Thermopylae ! 



VOICES. 



IDoices jfrom IHellas. 

THEIR shout went up to the Sun 
Ages gone, 
To the white brows, recording, of gods, 
When Herodotus read of The Fight 
That fashioned those Hellenes a might 
In the teeth of a fulgurous dawn, 

The Orient buttressed on brawn 

Ages gone, 
Pale like the peopled haze of hell, 
A whirlwind, edged, o'er the shuddering main 
It swept, it clashed. It shall meet again 
lyittle Hellas buttressed on brain. 

Her shout goes up to the sun 
In this dawn, 

68 



VOICES. 

To the heart of the great God of gods. 
Alone midst Europe's craven gun-light, 
Alone to lift the Christ-jflag aright, 
Veined with the ancient ichor of might- 
Little Hellas buttressed on right ! 



69 



VOICES. 



jfvom /IDount ®l\?mpus. 

ONCE more ye whirl your glance a-down 
that height, 
The fount of the idea — of gods for man. 
See ! through the valley's serpentining light, 
Dread mirror of the horned moon, the wan 
Thin daylight looks. Fuller and faster still 
The Orient pours. Her hordes' vermilion 

Hope, 
Fire-sheeted from great Tophet's fanned anvil, 
Roars a red rain. The devil's gate is ope. 
Nay, whirl our shout round the great stars, we 

men, 
The beaked hearts of great Hellas hold the hour. 
No more as once the war midst gods again 
Contending, calls. The one who blends their 

power 

70 



VOICES. 

Into one cause of man for man stands out — 
Christ with the human eyes has led the shout ! 



71 



VOICES. 



/iDors Janua Ditae. 

STAND, O ye Hellenes, stand ! 
"Three Hundred" against All; 
Stand in the rocky clefts of your will, 
The thin red line of great Hellas still. 
Stand ! 

Stand, O ye Hellenes, stand ! 

Your thirty centuries 
Are glowing before ye, and ray ye all o'er 
If ye' 11 smite as never and never before — 
Stand ! 

Stand, O ye Hellenes, stand ! 

Of fiery transport born. 
Grapple onward with knee, with fist, with teeth, 
Wrench out from disaster immortal wreath — 
Stand ! 



VOICES. 



Coeur H)e Xion U89. 
'C:be Xion*mearte& 1897. 

OH, for one steel-strong Presence at thy 
prow, 
England, finessing while Christ's flag goes down ! 
Where is thy vaunted C(£ur de Lio?i now 
To answer with its roar the Orient's frown? 
Plantagenets thou countest, royal roll 
Buzzing o'er Turkish sweetmeats wrapt in pelf ; 
Plantagenet is not : Great scarlet soul. 
Who for thy Thorn-Crowned flung away himself. 
To-day thy coeur de Lion crouches, pale 
From prowl of Bear and scream of Teuton bird ; 
Arise, dead Cid ! * our manhood's hoarse "All 
hail ! ' ' 



* The reader will recall how the prayers of the faithful and 
the tooth of St. Apollonia having failed, they set the dead Cid 
from his tomb in Burgos at the head of the host, and routed the 
red Orient. 

73 



VOICES. 

Awaits thine awful face, thy silent word. 
Arise, thou gaunt but gauntleted red Might, 
And hurl thine ICnghind on the Orient's fi"ht ! 



74 



VOICES. 



XTbe Slavic JBirD. 

ABOVE those ancient hill-tops, where the 
dove 
Panted its message bright of irised rain, 
A vulture-cloud wheels darkening, above 
The solemn Vast — the unmeasured mounds 
of slain. 
Armenia ! arching o'er thy crimsoned lands 
Two dread wings stretch ; steady they wait, 
their sweep 
That Standard's double eye whose move com- 
mands 
From Stamboul's silent chess-play to the leap 
Of the Pacific sea. Is it to help, 

Thou Russian might? to succor, save? and led 
By thee the nations learn ? for thy dread 
self 

75 



VOICES. 

Thy Standard's dark advancement o'er the 
dead? 

Is this thy power ? lo ! thy huge wings un- 
roll. 

A nation's bulk consists in her great soul! 



76 



VOICES. 



jfor Crete an& Hrmenla. 

FORWARD, ye nations, in the name of 
Heaven ! 
The Cross that wrapped your hosts in fiery 
swathe, 
Saint George's gleam, thou England to thee 
given 
Down thine illumined Past, to-day 'twill bathe 
Thy unsheathed steel. I^eap from your bond- 
aged sheath, 
Ye swords of Albion, to avenge the hands 
Stretched in a white appeal to ye, where death 
Streaks the gaunt air in Islam's defamed lands. 
We men, whose flag claims Heaven's great star- 
ship dread 
For pilot, in our veins rocks the red blood 
Of brotherhood with Britain's life, faith-fed. 

77 



VOICES. 

Is it not forward in the name of God? 
One took the greater risk upon a Cross 
And saved a world in Calvary's red loss ! 



78 



VOICES. 



IDolces. 

WHAT voices swing with the wild bird's 
wing 
Fluttering on Stamboul's shore, 
Sweeping along the red twilight's trail, 

Calling, and o'er and o'er 
Flinging on Mosque and Seraglio's domes 
Their utmost plaint at the door? 

On the Dardanelles' breast in infamous rest 

The guns of England lie, 
A holiday Red at the halliard's head. 

The Cross of Christ on high ! 
Idly a breath curls the crimsoning wave: 

The ennui of Britain's sigh. 

Like a giant wound, without cry or sound, 

79 



VOICES. 

The red sun falls and falls, 
An awful drop on the dead, dumb day, 

A requiem that calls 
To every drop of red manhood's blood 

In that fleet at the Sultan's walls. 

It utters to-day and to-morrow's to-day 

The Orient's crimson shame ; 
The Orient's shame, did I rashly cry? 

'Tis Christians' scarlet shame 
That hears the wild surge of its brethren's blood — 

And plays the diplomatists' game ! 

And idly floats like the painted boats 

That children set adrift, 
While the blood sobs on with each falling sun; — 

No hand leaps forth to lift 
From the soddened woe. But, ye nations, hark! 
For this red sun moves up the Orient-dark 

And speaks to Him who will sift ! 



VOICES. 



®n mistor^'s Mall. 

So fallen, so lost, 
England to-day ! 
Thy guns plough the moonlight 
At Crete with their noonlight : 
lyit infamy's ray. 

So fallen, so lost, 

England in might ! 
Thy faith? in the Prophet 
Whose sons dip in Tophet 

Their hands of red light. 



So fallen, so vain, 

England, thy vaunt ! 
Thy Christ shudders, dying, 

8i 



VOICES. 

Thy colors a-flying 

At Crete toss their taunt. 

So fallen, so shrunk, 

Britain ^^ sans homes'" ! 
In Turkish bonds grappled, 
Thy conscience? a dappled, 
Dead-gold, a God's scorn. 

For the hand, trembling, stretched 

(Thou, Britain, know well) 
On Crete's Calvary, writes 
From its crimson's dread heights 
Thy Mene Tekel. 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 



TLhz jflao in tbe H)art)anelles. 

OF all the wonders that the Old World 
shows, 
Of storied heights, Imperial gloom or gleam, 
One sight stupendous, growth of a grand dream, 
lyifts in the crimson haze of Orient-beam, 

The Flag of Washington leads empires on. 

Fprtressed upon his crimes the Sultan sits, 
A smile triumphant bridges the blue straits, 
Where, impotent, the might of nations waits. 
The smile Sultanic its red scheeming sates? 
Not while the Scarlet- Veined leads empires 
on. 

Unfurled to thunderous haze of Moslem might, 
O Flag of Washington, in this great hour, 

85 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 

A challenge, thou, in teeth of storied power; 

No lust of empire tempts thee, golden dower — 

The cause of Man is thine, O Flag, sail on ! 

On ! where the ' ' Powers ' ' are powerless to pass, 
In van of empires thou the guiding rod. 
On ! for the cause of Man is cause of God ! 
God swept His stars one morn thy face upon — 
The cause of God is thine, O Flag, sail on ! 



86 



PA TRIO TIC POEMS. 



IRature's IDote. 



GOD'S great big golden Dollar rises daily 
on the dawning, 
And scatters golden plenty to Uncle Sam's 
vast fold, 
Tell me why this fuss on voting? God's poli- 
tics are chosen ! 
The darkness claims the silver, the moon 
that's fed from gold. 



87 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 

IFn /iDemoriam /iDaceo. 

"'He being dead, yet speakethy 

AT Punta Brava hast thou fallen to-day, 
Leading thy Star through the red car- 
nage-haze ? 
Upon Spain's lip a Judas- smile finds way, 

Broadening to laughter and to triumph-lays? 
From Punta Brava shall thy star ascend, 

O Cuban patriot, thy standard's star 
That with great Freedom's galaxy must blend 

And burn before the dark of nations far. 
Shall the Castilian smile from camp to king? 
Not while on Brava soil there lives a 
soul. 
Not while the alchemy of Freedom's ring. 
Married to man, gleams toward one golden 
goal. 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 



Thy meteor-purpose, Maceo, shall burn 
Upon thy comrades' souls, the battle turn ! 



PA TRIO TIC POEMS. 

XTo (trover Clevelant). 

Chief Executive. 

OTHOU who waitest at the helm this hour, 
Thou whom Columbia honored with her 
trust, 
To voice her will, to represent her power, 

Why on thy pen Executive this rust 
When the great cry of man for I^iberty 

Obliges thy great torch to light his land? 
O shaker of the L,ion and the sea, 

Thou who didst fetter Anarchy's red hand, 
Thou from the Putnam battle-blood that 
knew 
Nor danger, nor dishonor, nor delay 
When the fair Right lifteth her face to sue 
For manhood's instant arm, cost what it 

may — 

90 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 

Carve out, with Pen, a path for Cuba free, 
Oh, seize to-day thiue opportunity ! 



91 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 



BuQlanD's pet Birt). 

IN the Zoo of the nations a marvellous sight 
On the sands of Time appears, 
Madam Europe stands up with her lorgnette 
deep, 
At the crested vision leers. 

A trainer of animals great and small 

Struts forth in the garish light, 
His crow rhyming on with the death-clock's 
tick— 

And fair Europe's cheek turns white. 

He faces the bear with the grizzled hair, 

Four hundred }'ears older than he, 

Quite ancient enough this bird to instruct — 

The Turkey instructs Brother B. ! 
92 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 

He eyes the two-headed Kaiser-bird, 

With his one old-sinner head ; 
The Eagles of Rome that o'er Asia screamed, 

Coquet, then shiver — they've fled! 

But marvel of marvels, the biped that once 
Caressed him (caged in the South), 

I^ook ! To-day he has got a hitching-strap 
In the English donkey's mouth. 



93 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 



[HAD a large prize for the Zoo, 
For the denizens of the den, 
I slowly strolled through the garden's fold, 
And, quite anxiously, scanned each pen : 

There was the British lion 

With a bluster in every blare ! 
Yet he feared to fight for the Hellenes' right, 

Can't he bear The Prize to his lair? 

Our Eagle was posing well 

For a new dollar-greenback die, 
Yet no quill from his wing has writ the Grand 
Thing 

To sustain Oiba Libre as I. 

The monkey was mincing the airs 

94 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 

Of a Dreibtind member, quite pale, 
SnifBing well to the organ was plaintive Jack 
Morgan, 
Quite Red, White and Green to his tail. 

I heard two big buzzards talking : 

' ' Mille pardons / " ^ ^ " Entsdmldigen Sie ! ' ' 
On the walls that were Alsace, a good deal of 
tall "sass," 

An Eagle (or eager) war-glee. 

Just look at that grandiose Bird ! 

He sweeps from the lands of the Pole, 
But his glance it is double, 'twill give nations 
trouble 

From Scotia to Corea's ro/e. 

The sick Turkish paroquet 

On the Sultan-odalisque's arm 
Is really quite well : the "Powers" are pell-mell ! 

95 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
That red on his wing is Blood, warm ! 

They all really deserve my prize ; 

To whom shall I give it, you think? 
But I've made up my mind, and I'm quite far 
from blind. 

You can guess. One guess in a wink ! 

There he comes, the Prize-Winner, sure ! 

A waller, spelt W-e-y-1-e-r, you say? 
My Booby Prize-Winner without triumph's din- 
ner : 

The real Spanish donkey to-day. 



96 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 



]£rpectations. 

WHOM do you pray for, darling, to- 
night?" 
Mamma said to the curly toss 
Of childhood's ringlets upon her knee. 
The arch little face looked up with glee : 
"For McKinley and Santa Klaus!" 



97 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 



xrbe Xoftiest Mort). 

FROM the magnet-touch of the great To-day 
That tosses them up to their starry way 
The flags are writing along the sky 
In the quivering Red and White and Blue 

(The Liberty-ink that nations sue) 
The loftiest word in the circling hum 
Of Life — that volume of smile and sigh : 
Americanus Sum ! 

July 4th. 



98 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ube Sft^larft. 



u 



P ! 



Through the dew-light when Dawn holds her cup 

To the rim of the scarlet sun, 

O'er the sparkles that float and run 

To a zenith whose breath's begun — 

Up! 



Up! 

With thy beak in that Deep, in a wine 

Whose brim is a blooming divine, 

Upwelling for this thirst of thine 

To mount the blue Infinite line — 

Up ! 



POEMS OF NATURE. 

Up! 

O'er the woodlands that fill their green cup 

With the gurgle of birds and streams, 

With the sunlight in tangled beams, 

The forest's dawn-echo of dreams — 

Up! 

Up! 

The thunderous octaves of ocean, 

The Infinite's epic to man. 

Grow lessening and less. The blue span 

A vaporous streak, thinning — wan — 

Up! 

Up! 

The shimmer of silver worlds, star flight. 

Falls a cloud wreath on azure light, 

Up ! thy wild wing aspires the height, 

What margins of mystery in sight } 

Up! 



POEMS OF NATURE. 

Up! 

And thy shower of song in the cup 

Which to mortal Hps is given 

For a moment of unveiled heaven — 

The cry of an utmost Eden ! 

Up! 



»03 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 



Iln tbe ©rcbart). 

FULL-DRESS the apple-tree ladies, 
Pink glistenings on their heart, 
Wide-spread society's flounces. 
The orchard's uncaptured art — 
For the bumble-bee band is humming. 

Senor Lark has sung first solo, 
"Where did it reach?" and low 

The breezes stammer, breathless : 
"Only the lark doth know "— 
And the clouds are pale with that echo. 

Miss Hawthorne in grand tier boxes, 
Peeps, pink, — a glance over there, 

She sees her colors are burning : 

Mr. Robin's boutonniere ! 

And the bumble-bee band is humming. 
104 



POEMS OF NATURE. 

Now Baritone Bobolink's roulade 

Is met with a rain of cheers, 
The star-flowers' eyes grow misty, 
The buttercups hide their tears, 
And the bumble-bee band is sobbing ! 

Intermezzo. Full-dress ladies 
Salute (Eden's manners fine). 

Their powdered heads bend together 
As if they were taking wine — 
And the bumble-bee band is drinking. 

But once more a solo maddens — 
"Where did it reach!" and low 

The Orchard whispers, trembling :" 
"Only the lark doth know." 
But a world is held with that echo ! 



105 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



IRobin's IRew Sona. 

TILTING on the hawthorne 
White, with love of May, 
Robin climbs his ladder : 

L,adder-trills of lay ; 
Brown beak dipped in summer, 

Heart as red as rose, 
Bud that on her lattice 
In the May-breeze blows. 



At her lattice-window 
Where the linnet builds, 

Where the vines are glistening 
In the dawn's sun-rills, 

Waits my ladye Wynneth 
Fair as dawn's pale flush 

io6 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 

When the sun's wild wooing 
Wakes a crimson blush, 

Robin waits, and watches 

(Ah, that brown eye keen !) 
The fair ladye Wynneth 

At the casement's green ; 
Slowly through the hedge-rows 

Starred with flecks of sun. 
Rides Sir Knight, rides slowly, 

Morn's but just begun ! — 

Robin ! what's that madness 

In the sudden verse 
From thy red heart trembling? 

Song, the larks rehearse. 
Robin's caught, and tasted 

Her first kiss, above, 

Tossed from casement-window, 

Her first kiss of love ! 
107 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



TTbe ^fountain. 

Frotn the Arabic. 

AFAR, I behold the silver sheen 
Of the white rose rise o'er the garden's 
queens 
lyike thy moonlight-self o'er the Torrid, love. 
Hastening, I hear the white rose speak, 
L,ulling like leaves of ihy moonlight-voice 
When thy lips o'erpetal my parched lips, love. 



108 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ube Mbite IRose. 

ON that first blush of Eden 
When the moon looked in 
At the love-glow of the garden 

Burned his gaze to win 
Love like that deep of Heaven 
When the moon looked in. 

On two unfolding rose-lips 
When the moon looked in 

Stayed his ivory light, infolding, 
"All thy life I win ! " 

White is the rose forever. 
For the moon looked in. 



109 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ube 1/igbtnfna. 

^OWARDS the moon's cruse it leaps, 

it bends and drinks, 
And, quafl&ng heaven, desire 

with distance links. 



T 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 



Ube 1Fli0bt*Blooming Cereus. 

THE stars are out and the green-lipped moon 
in shroud. 
The wind that's knocking, soul, at thy door? 
Along the marge the moan of the sea, 
Circumference of spheric agony, 

What knell is knocking, soul, o'er and o'er? 
The world is out in wake of the skeleton cloud. 

Thy Hope is out, soul, hell is a-lit and a-leap. 
God over gods of hell ^^ ^ ^ my white face in 
their deep? 

On a branch of the world a silver star ! 
A flake from the foam that the moonbeams are 
As they crawl into cadence over the bar 
That's haunted with shriek of lost souls afar? 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 

God over gods of hell * >i< ;;; my white face 
that they reap ! 

On a branch of the world a silver star ! 
From pavement untrodden but by God, 
Glassing, alone, the great antiphons, 
Petal on petal, pearled, spheric tones 
That wake from the opal word of God ; 

On a branch of the world a silver star 
Tinged with angels ! — not far, not far ! 

On a branch of the world a silver star, 

Soul of my soul ;i< ^ :); in this cosmic war 
Wrenched, beckoned, wreathed, a door that's 

ajar 
For the yellow laugh of devils that are — 
Soul of my soul, in thy whitening fight 
Ponder it, down on thy knees to-night 



POEMS OF NATURE. 

As the devil's dice rattles farther, a-far, 
Falls through the black for the nations' toss — 
that's war — 

Soul, that art gripping on God to-night, 
On a branch of thy world this silver star 
Tinged with angels — not far, not far — 
Upbreathes their song-sea, its enringing God, 
A word in the wake of His step star-shod ! 



"3 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Centripetal. 

REVERENCE for the atom, dew-drop, 
Shaping self in spheric order, 
Reverence for the soul begetteth, 
For that supreme work, God's Human : 
Dawn of Eden on the forehead. 
Dawn of self's august revealments, 
" God's own Infinite within me, 
Destiny swings in her portals 
To my will." The ages prove it. 
Once, in wing-sweep o'er the Azure, 
It is said the grave archangels 
Held the hand a frolic cherub 
Stretched towards a drop of fire-mist, 
Golden dew-light down the pathways 
Constellations tread. The cherub 
Stretched his hand towards the sparkle : 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 

"Little ball! a game! I'll toss it!" 
Leaped the word of lit archangel ; 
"Sou! Hold thy hand! And kneel!— 7"/^^ 
Earth!'' 



"5 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ube /iDapflower. 

AMElvLOW delight is the meadow 
Mad with May, 
Through the green heave the wind's 

Singing its way, 
Unfolding and blowing 

In riot and roam 
On hedge-row and hill-top 

Its silvering foam, 
Through tint and through patter of summer 
shower, 

Mayflower ! 

A-dream was the Blue of the midnight, 

Dream of Day, 
Through the Star- weave the gold's 

Mirrored in May. 

ii6 



POEMS OF NATURE. 

Upholding its tapers 

Of light on the land 
The buttercups glister 

On violet strand, 
Through rose of the sunset and rhyme of shower, 

Star-flower ! 

A-dream was the nebulous ocean 

One gray Day. 
Through the green heave a ship's 

Ploughing its way. 
Painting the Infinite 

With soul-prompted star, 
A sail 'gainst God's azure 

Grows over the bar ! 

O'er rocks and o'er storm-beat one crystal comes. 
The blossom whose hues are a nations' homes : 
Mayflower ! 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



5une. 

DAWN of her tangled strains 
May-breezes babbled of through flushing 

lanes ; 
Day of her harmony, 
Heaven bending deep: "Thy warm, sweet 
eyes for me ;" 
Night of her bloom, moon-led, 
June liftetli up her lips, a rose, love-fed. 



iiS 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



pour Bile. 

Cupidon s'asseyait 

Dans un jardin de pense'cs, 
De son aile pi ante 7ine plume : 

^' Petit arbre pour V enchanter ! ^ 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 



Met (BirDle. 

IT is an orbit in whose zone a star, 
Her woven heart-beats' tune, 
Moves with the melody of gods afar 
In permanence of June. 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 



IHer 6irMe IHnclaspet). 

As when a goddess turns the lock 
On her illumined lands of night, 
The traveller worn for one sweet rest 
Gleaming afar, like Naiad-light 
On waters chiming with death's clock — 

Sees haven ! through moon-dawn of her 
breast. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



a IRose. 

A BREATH of God's summer, 
O crimsoning new-comer 
Whom mortals call a rose? 
A spirit-plumed maiden, 
A moment pulse-laden 

With heaven's red lip that blows. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



S THOUGHT by thought drops like the 
silver's seven 
On rosary, along the poet's vision, 
He kneels and listens still within the Elysian 
Where roses rhyme their lyric breath with 
Heaven . 



A 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ube TRarna!? XUi?. 



DOWN the colossal majesty 
Of Karnak's road I rove, 
Pillared on splendor loom the forms 

Of gods, the Theban Jove, 
The sacrifice, the mystic rite — 

Vague hieroglyphs of heaven 
Foreshadowing ecstacy beyond 

The sacred columns seven. 
The vocal glooms of solitude. 

The thunderous silence speaks, 
The roll of ages mounts, — its voice 

The soul of man. It seeks 
Some boon from awful Amon-Ra : 

"To me, thou Sun-god, come!" 

The shadows sweep the solitudes, 
124 



POEMS OF NATURE. 

The fervent lips are dumb. 

* *. * * 

On the still breast of Heaven's blue, 

Anchored in seas of light, 
Crown of the column's majesty, 

The lotus floats in sight, 
The lotus-lily to the sun 

I/ifts lip, and has the god's kiss won ! 



135 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



XTbe Bai^ptian ©belisft. 



STERN staying Index on the clanging turn 
Of dappled Time, pointing to One — man's 
bourn. 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 



Ube BGPPtian ©belisft. 
II 

HAT word of old stayed thy bright bound 
towards firmaments of One, 
Thou mystic fount from fathomless, 

thou Prism of the sun ! 



W 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



IRevele. 

Je 7no7ite, et je vois 

Stir les ailes de V Amoiir 
L' horizon qui se cache 

Pour les autres en piein jotir. 



128 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



for Mbom? 

THE misted moon had bared her breast. 
The star-strong steel of warriors seven 
Anointed in the sunset's crest, 

Waits maddened, trembling ou Heaven's rim. 

Her smiling tips 
With fleicr de-lis their lance. Still dim, 
Unquaffed those lips, 
They wildly stare upon Madonna-maid in Heaven. 



129 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Uransfiouratfon. 
I. 

THE sacred raiment I put off 
So soon her smile hath gone 
That clothed me with that clime that holds 
The deathless rose of dawn. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



XTransfiguratfon. 

II. 



SHE comes, my lady comes, 
I tremble, I, a man. 
Yet when her lips cross my soul's sill, I 
Know what Immortals can ! 



131 



POEMS OF NATURE. 

®ne /IDoonliQbt. 

From the Persian. 

HE kissed a crescent on my lips, 
Half-circle sweet, if small, 
It burns a Heaven upon the night — 
It holds an Orient's All. 



132 



POEMS OF NA TURE. 



H prater. 

SAY ye one word down the dread silences, 
O angels great of God who bend and lift 
Those murmurous vesture-folds of Time 
Whose voices stir from out an Infinite ; 
And give to soul, not sense, one thrill of Him 
The Word, who waits within the Eternal Veil 
With eyes intent upon our manhood's life 
In all its leap and lift, its strife, its storm. 
Its currents counting slow through the great dark 
To that lit Vast whose stars are harbor-lights. 
On manhood's pulse with all its possible, 
Lift, messengers of God, one thrill of Him 
Whose eyes are vistas of man's ultimate — 
For lo, in His, our veins do rhyme ! 



133 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



a /iDeetiuQ.* 

HE stands to-day upon the street, 
The Infinite street of many lights, 
Shadows have sunk into the night — 
Shadows, and the Four Hundred lights. 

Silence along the Infinite Street — 
The burning gaze of the Expanse 

Bends but one way ; upon two men 

Who meet. There's silence in the advance. 

Of moments in the Eternal Day 

("Good Form" obtains in highest Heaven), 

One of these men is speaking, see ! 

A hush through the great Trumpets seven, 

• One of Mr. McAllister's maxims is said to have been : " I/you 
see a man with a shabby coat, cross the street to avoid him." 

134 



POEMS OF NATURE. 

He stands upon the Eternal Street 
Of wide-ascending, argent light, 

A dazzle "Patriarchs" never dreamed, 
Nor Prophets, nor a Pope in white. 

He stands upon the Eternal Street, 
The radiance is of hue unpriced — 

What form is this that faces him? 

The poor storm-shattered serge of Christ ; 

The Man who wore the "shabby coat" 
For the long space of heavj' years 

For this man, all men. Once, cast out 
By a "Four Hundred's" cultured sneers. 

What canst thou do, O soul? Decide! 

He faces thee, the Nazarene. 
Thou canst not "cross" the Eternal Street, 

Thou canst not shirk that Face once seen. 



135 



